A collection of small moments
by Gambitized
Summary: There are small moments, moments that could be canon, if they were written by J.K. Rowling, not me. Currently: Lavender's father hears of her death.
1. Table of contents

Herein lies all my one-shots that I have completed thus far.

Some of them are good.

But honestly, most of them are mediocre. Still it can't hurt to give them a read, can it?

On a more serious note, this is where I'm storing all of the one-shots, so that I don't have a overwhelming amount cluttering up my profile page. Below I'll (briefly) summarize every story, so you can just pick up and choose which ones you want to read.

Posted in the chronological order that I wrote them in. Below them is my thoughts about it. If you don't care for my thoughts, then you should be able to just skip down to the next one. Also, I would like to note that it's likely the earlier stories are going to be more shoddily written then the later ones. I think that's a good thing though, because I hope that means my writing's getting better.

1\. Table of contents:

This is where I explain how I plan to summarize all of my stories, then proceed to describe them briefly.

2\. Catching Grief:

Colin, having brought his camera to the third and final trail of the Tri-Wizard tournament, tries to capture the emotions around him. Rated T for death.

a/n: it's heavily inspired by a fanfic I saw about Colin, but it's the first real piece I wrote that had any sort of action to it, so I look back at it with a sort of fondness.

3\. A Small Thank You:

A letter written to the D.A. about the school year 1997-1998. Rated K for everyone.

a/n: it's just another idea I couldn't get out of my head, but the letter format just seemed to work for it.

4\. Dawlish:

A story about Dawlish during the Battle of Hogwarts, trying to portray him as semi capable. Rated T for battle, death, and blood.

a/n: I wrote this primarily because I wanted to get a different view then most of the fanon sees him, I don't know why, but I always felt a little bad for him.

5\. A Bit of a Argument:

Padma's feeling down after getting Terry caught by the Carrows, so Parvati does what every responsible sibling would do and cheers her up. rated k+ for most people.

a/n: based on a conversation I overheard. It was a pair of siblings arguing for five minutes over what color a flower had been. If I heard right, the flower had been dead well over two years at this point. For some reason, I thought it would make a good fanfic.

6\. For Want of Someone:

Neville, on a occasion that he feels isolated, wishes for something he's never had. Rated T for loneliness.

a/n: I think that everyone's felt alone at some point, and I always thought that Neville, especially during his earlier years, would feel quite lonely at Hogwarts.

7\. Last thoughts:

As the time to fight in the Battle of Hogwarts draws near, the twelve D.A. members that were there all year have just enough time to have one last thought.

A/N: This was more of a personal project of mine, sort of a attempt to understand the D.A.'s motivations for fighting. It turned out...ok, I guess, but I'm not really that pleased with it.

8\. A flower's death:

the death of Lavender as seen through her father's eyes. It should be noted that it's not action oriented; i.e. It's not a story of her father during the battle of Hogwarts.

A/N: This is just a story I wrote while I was procrastinating on my other stories that I was working on at the same time. I rather like how it turned out, but It's the first time I've ever tried such a serious subject matter.

Finally, as with many of the writers on this sight, I'm trying to get better. So please, if you spot anything that you think needs work, even things as small as typos, please point them out to me!


	2. Catching Grief

_Excitement_

You could always tell when a picture shows excitement. People's faces were lit up, eyes lit up, mouths drawn into smiles and cheers. It showed in their body language too. It was tense, but also relaxed in a way that meant that they were having fun.

Colin loved taking pictures of excited people. It was easy to take, particularly in a crowd as large as this one. With just one person it was a little harder, but in group shot, it was easy to capture excitement.

Snap! A picture taken of Dean and Seamus jumping up and down as they watched Harry enter the maze.

Snap! A picture taken of Hermione and Ron cheering Harry on as he leaves their line of sight. Behind them, you can see the crowd moving with excitement.

Snap! A picture is taken of the three Gryffindor chasers yelling Harry's name, shouting as loud as they can.

Snap! Snap! Snap! Colin takes more pictures as the rest of the champions enter the maze. As the Beauxbatons champion enters the maze last, Colin leans against the railing at the top of the quidditch stands. For now, his job is done. The excitement has temporarily gone down a notch as the Champions disappear from view. Dennis looks up at him, and Colin takes one more shot: a picture of his brother looking eagerly up at him.

 _Anxiety_

Colin isn't quite sure what word to use to describe the crowd now. They're tense, nervous, and impatient. It's not until he tries to take a few shots that he realizes a good word would be anxious. There's this restless energy in the crowd that makes them keep moving, preventing Colin from getting a good shot. Shrugging, Colin takes more pictures, glad that someone found a way to get pictures to move. It would be almost impossible otherwise to capture the way anxiety makes people both move and keep still at the same time.

Snap! A picture is taken of the headmasters and headmistress, their anxiety showing in their small motions. A tap of a foot, a slight twitch of the fingers, they all betrayed the nervousness of their owners.

Snap! A photo is taken showing a pretty girl from Ravenclaw looking mildly sick with anxiety.

Snap! A picture is taken of Neville, his anxiousness practically making him bounce in his seat, causing him to look like he had to use the bathroom.

Laughing slightly, Colin sits down next Dennis, trying to ignore his own anxiety. Dennis is looking at him, and Colin forces a smile onto his face.

"Don't worry," he said, keeping the smile on his face. "Harry's going to win."

 _Surprise_

Surprise is hard to capture. Surprises don't happen as often as you would think, and so when a scream is suddenly heard, Colin is not fast enough to capture the looks on people's faces. All he captures is excitement and worry. Cursing under his breath, he waits for the next opportunity. After all, if can happen once, it can happen again.

Colin is rewarded when a set of red sparks are shot up, symbolizing the second champion down. Colin jumps up and starts going crazy with his camera.

Snap! The Weasley twins are pointing out the red sparks to their friend, Lee Jordan.

Snap! A bunch of Beauxbatons girls are jumping up, clutching each other so tightly it makes Colin wince.

Snap! Hagrid is carrying a girl out of the maze, with a lot of people in the background.

Feeling satisfied with himself, Colin sits back down next to Dennis. Yes, it was hard to capture surprise, certainly harder than excitement or anxiety, but Colin was confident that he had got at least a few good pictures.

 _Bewilderment_

Time passes, and another champion is carried out of the maze. Colin jumps up and takes a few more pictures, but he doesn't really expect to get anymore emotions tonight.

more time passes, and people are getting restless. They had been sitting here for quite a while, but none of them want to get up, knowing the tournament would be over soon.

Still more time passes, and now people are starting to whisper. What's taking so long? Shouldn't they be done by now? Has something gone wrong? Sensing another opportunity, Colin starts taking some more pictures, praying that he doesn't run out of film.

Snap! Dumbledore is in a whispered conversation with Ludo Bagman, Bagman is waving his arms and Dumbledore is frowning.

Snap! A group of Ravenclaws are talking to each other, wondering, questioning each other.

Snap! A group of younger Gryffindor's have started a game of exploding snap, unware of the growing sense of bewilderment around them. They're giggling, while all around them people are asking their neighbor, Has something happened?

Colin leans against the railing again, unwilling to sit down. Now that he has captured the sense of bewilderment, his mind is free to wonder alongside everyone else's. What has happened to Harry?

 _Shock_

Colin knows there is a difference between surprise and shock. People react to surprise in different ways, but they all recover so fast it's hard to take a picture. Shock on the other hand, well, it lasts longer. The mind is trying to process what it's seeing, and faces go blank. There's a silence that a picture can capture.

So when Harry suddenly appears out of nowhere, Colin is surprised, but does his best to ignore the oncoming shock. There is nearly complete silence, and Colin needs to act now if he has any hope of capturing the emotion going on in the stands.

SNAP! His first picture echo's loudly in the silence, but Colin doesn't care. What matter is that he has started, and nothing is going to stop him now.

Snap! Parvati's and Lavender's mouths are wide open, portraying their shock. It's as if they can't comprehend what their seeing.

Snap! The group of young Gryffindor's playing exploding snapped has stopped, their faces scared. Something bad has happened, but they haven't figured it out yet.

Snap! This is a group shot, not focused on any one person. It shows a big part of the stands, but the truly remarkable thing about it is that everyone's expressions are the same. It's one of dawning horror.

People are starting to recover now, and the silence is rapidly being replaced with hushed conversation. Desperate, Colin takes one last shot. It's of harry, lying in the middle of the field, completely alone except for a dead body.

Colin has captured shock, and it horrifies him. Not the shock itself, but what it stems from. it horrifies him that it has taken something this bad to happen for him to capture it.

Colin sits down heavily, and lets the shock hit him for the first time. Someone had died, here, at Hogwarts, where they were supposed to be safe.

Oh god.

 _Grief_

In the following week, Colin does what he does best: takes pictures. He knows that some people might find it insensitive, but he doesn't know what else do to. As soon as he is allowed, he starts sloping around the castle, taking pictures, trying to capture the emotion that is all around the school

Snap! A picture is taken of professor McGonagall walking around the corridors. There's an expression on her face that Colin can't identify, and he's not sure if has captured grief.

Snap! A picture is taken of the Gryffindors in their common room. Their expressions aren't of grief though. Instead, there is only confusion.

Sighing, Colin gives up on the Gryffindors and moves on to the Hufflepuffs. Cedric was in their house after all, so they should be feeling more grief then the Gryffindors. Pushing his way out of the portrait hole, he sets out to find some Hufflepuffs.

Snap! The first picture taken is of a group of Hufflepuffs a year above Colin. They look lost, and their not talking. Maybe it's because of this that the picture can't quite capture the silence, and the picture ends up badly.

Snap! The next picture is of professor Sprout talking to two adults, and their all crying. Colin tries to take a picture, but only manages to get them from the back, and the picture fails to convey the heartfelt grief the three are feeling.

Snap! This picture is taken a few days later, in the great hall. It shows the Hufflepuffs eating, but it doesn't capture the emptiness they are feeling.

Snap! A picture is taken of the real professor Moody, but all it shows is a scared veteran sniffing a chunk of food.

Colin nearly gives up. No matter what he tries, he can't manage to the get the feelings across right. He has captured more than a few tears, but when he takes a picture of them they fall flat, and the whole picture looks staged. Dissatisfied, Colin takes one last picture on the spur of the moment.

Snap! It's the pretty Ravenclaw girl from the match, and the tears are there. But's there's also something else. A look of pain, mingled with loss? Colin isn't sure, and he slinks away before he is noticed.

For the rest of the week, Colin puts down his camera. He doesn't know what to take pictures of, and even if he did, he didn't feel like it. Instead he spend his time like the rest of the school, and sits around discussing Cedric. Sometimes it is wondering what happened that makes them talk, but other times it is the shock that something this horrible could happen to another student.

On the last day before they leave for home, Colin stays up late and develops the pictures. He makes them move, and then he pins them all up, so that he is able to get a good look at them. For the first time, Colin is really able to see if they came out.

Excitement was easy to catch, so Colin isn't surprised that all the pictures he took of it came out perfectly. Pleased, he moves on.

Anxiety would have been nearly impossible to see if the pictures weren't moving. Everyone in the pictures is fidgeting, and because of that, the pictures capture the anxiety perfectly.

Surprised that any of these pictures came out, Colin examines them critically. They don't all reveal surprise, but some do, and that's good enough for him. Feeling proud of himself, he moves to the next set.

Bewildered wasn't an emotion that Colin had tried to capture before, and he stares at the pictures for a while, trying to see it from another person's point of view. They do seem to show bewilderment, but the pictures don't capture the scale of the bewilderment. Frowning slightly, Colin examines the next set of pictures.

Shock was another easy one to capture. Everyone has paused, not moving, and it makes all the pictures look like muggle ones. Colin is pleased though. The pictures capture the stillness that comes with shock.

Grief is the last one Colin examines, and he spends the most time looking at these pictures. Every single one he took looks like something is missing, and Colin isn't sure what that something is. Frowning again, Colin examines them all again. The pictures just don't seem to do justice to the real grief he had just seen. Even the last photo disappoints him. Yes, the shock and pain and tears are all there, but something is still missing.

In spite of Colin's best efforts, he has failed to capture grief.


	3. A Small Thank You

To whichever Dumbledore's Army member reads this letter,

I've left this letter on the memorial, in the hopes that one of you will be curious enough to pick this up. I don't know if you will, but I'm not brave enough to give this to you in person.

19 years ago, during the school year of 97-98, I was a first year at Hogwarts. And as you well know, the first years, along with everyone else, weren't treated very well.

Every day, we would have to force ourselves out of bed, praying that we could get throughout the day without ourselves, or our friends, being hurt. Yeah, it was selfish that we only thought about ourselves, but it was the only way we could bring ourselves to go to classes. I don't know if everyone was like that, but everyone in the first year felt that way.

But you guys never seemed to feel that way. Day after day, you stood up and didn't let the Carrows run over you without rebellious words. We were hurt every once in a while, but you guys were hurt almost every day.

I can never thank you enough for what you did when you stood up against the Carrows and refused to do what they said. Everyone else was too afraid, fearful of what would happen if they refused. But all of you weren't afraid. Or maybe you were, but you still stood up and got tortured. The fact that _someone_ could refuse and deny the Carrows complete control of Hogwarts kept the rest of us going.

You probably never knew this, but a lot of us were ready to give up, to just accept what Alecto was saying about muggles, because it was easier than the alternative. But every time that would start to happen, that we started to begin to think that Alecto was telling the truth about muggles, word would spread about how someone had rebuked her, and had suffered the Cruciatus Curse. And then we would know that not everyone had given up yet. It wasn't much compared to all the hurt going around, but it was enough to give us hope.

I don't hesitate to say that without the Dumbledore's Army, Hogwarts would have fallen that night. Not just when the Death Eaters attacked, though you undoubtedly helped then too. I'm talking about earlier, when the Slytherin girl yelled at us to grab Harry Potter.

For a half an instant, I could tell people were about to listen to her. And why wouldn't they? It made sense. Capture him, and none of us die. But instead, for the first time all year, they followed your lead. They remembered what was worth fighting for, and they refused to hand Harry Potter over.

And then, with an unprecedented level of bravery, some people stayed and fought, when by all rights, they should have gone home, where they were safe. Instead, with no combat training, they followed Dumbledore's Army into battle.

This feels a little bit long winded, but what I'm trying to say is this. Without you guys, no one would have had the spine to stand up to Voldemort. You kept us all from breaking to the Carrows. You kept our spirit alive.

I know that this probably doesn't mean much, and that you get thanks from people every day, but I could never live with myself if I didn't take the time to thank you for what you did.

So for what it's worth, thank you.

Sincerely,

David Towler


	4. Dawlish

The once peaceful night was being torn apart by a cascade of colorful lights, and Dawlish loved it. This was where he truly belonged. No decisions to make, no hard choices. Fighting was really the simplest thing in life. You didn't even really have to think. All that was required was for you to listen to your instincts, and Dawlish had some of the best instincts in recent years.

It was possible however, that his instincts were no longer as sharp as they used to be. A few years ago, the girl from Hogwarts that he was dueling would have fallen a long time ago. Perhaps it was age finally slowing his reactions, but for the life of him he could not finish this duel.

The girl was really trying to hold her own, the light of the spells flying between them reflected in her glasses. However, there was just no getting around the fact that she was outmatched. Dawlish, even when he wasn't at his best, simply had the experience of hundreds of duels behind him. All it took was a moment's distraction, and Dawlish found himself looking down on her, as she crumpled to earth, injured.

Dawlish kicked her wand away, as he pointed his own wand at her. He didn't want to, but his orders had been clear. He had to kill everyone who tried to rebel against the Ministry

"I'm sorry," he said. "Avada Ked-"

And then a Giant's club hit him, and he went flying. He had just enough time to think that it was a miracle that he wasn't unconscious when the ground hit him.

John Dawlish really had no excuse for being a bad guy. He had no bad childhood experiences, never once been bullied. His parents had been kind to him up till the day they died. He wasn't even a pureblood, so he had no reason to think himself above every one. So how had he ended up here?

He hadn't set out to be the bad guy, quite the opposite in fact. In spite of being able to go into any career, he had decided to join the Aurors. At the time, people had told him that someone with his talent would be wasted there, and that he would be better off getting a job as an aide to the minister. But Dawlish didn't care. He was going out to catch the dark wizards that were starting to rise with greater frequency. So at what time had he turned into someone that was working with the dark wizards?

He had used the unforgivable curses when he was forced to during the first wizard war. He hadn't liked it, but it was the only way to capture the wizards that were threatening the Ministry. But that didn't make him a dark wizard. Between the wars, he had actually helped track down the remaining Death Eaters. So why was he standing right next to one that he had caught years ago?

Dawlish wasn't a fool. He knew that that he wasn't a leader. He was a follower. He had been at Hogwarts, and he was now. It was the Ministry's job to provide the leadership during these dark times, and it was his job to provide the loyalty that would keep the Ministry safe. Alone one man couldn't possibly hope to make the right choices. That's what the Ministry was for, so that one man could be advised and guided into making the right choices. The Ministry was right in a way that one man could never be. So why was he starting to doubt the Ministry?

How the hell did he end up preparing to fight against Hogwarts?

Why was he on the side with the same dark wizards had had caught years ago?

For the last year he had trusted the Ministry implicitly, knowing that they were almost never wrong. Yes, there had been times when he had almost questioned his orders, but in the end he had followed them. Yes, maybe he couldn't think as clearly as he used too, but he could still think, and his thoughts reassured him that, as ever, the Ministry was right.

But this time, this was different. Something in Dawlish's mind was crying out, trying to get his attention, but every time he tried to focus on it, it fled deeper into his mind, leading him into an endless cycle of doubts.

Why the hell was he preparing to go into battle against Hogwarts?

Doubtlessly, the doubts would have continued, except that Dawlish was jolted out of his thoughts by none other than the Minister of Magic himself, Pius Thickness.

"Ready to put an end to these traitors once and for all?" The Minister asked him.

The last doubts flew from Dawlish's mind faster than a Firebolt. If the Minister himself was joining them, then surely there was no need to doubt. After all, the Minister had been advised by the best, and if he had chosen this course of action, then this was the best course of action.

"Yes, Minister" Dawlish nodded as he spoke, feeling confident once again.

"Excellent," smiled the Minister. "We must stop the Mudbloods before they ruin us all.

Dawlish woke up with a groan. He had hoped that this would be one of the times when he didn't feel the pain until well after the battle, but apparently, this was not one of these times. His whole back where he had been hit was complaining, and his head ached where the he had hit the ground.

It was odd however, that his head actually felt better than it had before the battle. Yes, his head hurt, but he felt like he could think clearly, something that had been evading him for almost a year. It was rather as if you hadn't slept in three days, then taken a nice long rest.

Dawlish forced himself to sit upright, trying to find out what was going on, something that had been drilled into his head by his mentor. From what he could see, the battle was still going. But something was different. He couldn't see Hogwarts anymore. What had happened to it?

Dawlish looked behind him on a sudden hunch. Hogwarts, it transpired, was still there, though not as Dawlish remembered it. There were fires coming from several windows, and one whole tower looked as though it had collapsed.

Wait a second... If Hogwarts was behind him, and the battle in front of him that must mean that he had been flung clear over the defenders.

"Hey, you Ok?" A small, rather mousy boy who looked much too young to be in a middle of a battle was suddenly beside him. "Can you stand?"

"I'm fine," Dawlish had long since learned that it was best to keep dialog short in combat. "What are you doing?"

The small boy smiled, an excited look flashing on his face. "I'm going to fight some Death Eaters.

To him, it really was that simple. They were the bad guys, and he was a good guy. It probably was a good thing that this boy didn't know that Dawlish was working for the Ministry.

"Why?" Dawlish knew that it was a stupid question, but he had to know why someone would fight the Ministry.

The boy's smiled faded a little bit. "Because I'm a Muggle-born. I had to sneak in here to fight, but I have to fight, since everyone out there," he gestured to the ever-nearing battle. "Everyone, out there fighting is fighting for my right to live."

Dawlish studied the boy's face. It was set, as if he had already made up his mind, and no one was going to change it.

"Can you stand?" the boy asked, extending his hand. "People out there need our help."

"Yeah," replied Dawlish, forcing himself to his feet, trying to ignore the pain coming from his back and head.

C'mon then!" the excited look was back on the boy's face, as if he couldn't wait to go and fight.

And then he bounded off toward the battle without another word, leaving Dawlish standing there looking rather foolish. For the boy, the choice was simple. It was fight, because any other option was unacceptable. There was no sense doubting his decision.'

For Dawlish, there was no simple choice. No matter what, he was going to fight, but now, with his head clear for the first time, he had choice. Either he could betray the Ministry he had worked for all his life, or risk his life fighting a (from what he could see) losing battle.

Actually, when put like that, the decision was easy one.

Dawlish started looking for a way to rejoin the Ministries lines. They had pushed far ahead toward the castle, but there still was a solid wall of defenders between him and the Ministry. He didn't see any way to sneak back around the defenders. Perhaps it would be best just to act dead until his own line reached him?

Even as he started trying to think of a playing dead, the small boy who had so kindly helped him up popped into his head. Was he really going to lie there and not move while a _child_ was trying to fight for his right to live?

Merlin, he hated decisions.

What was he supposed to do? Nobody was here to tell him what to do this time. No one was going to reassure his doubts. No one was here to tell him that what the Ministry was doing was the right thing. And right now, from where he stood, it didn't look as though the Ministry forces were doing the right thing.

Even as he stood, indecisive, the defenders were being forced closer to where he stood. They were badly outnumbered now, and they were barely able to keep a line at all. All across the desperate line, people were screaming in pain, or else carrying wounded comrades' back. Barely anyone still standing was uninjured and free to fight. It was clear to Dawlish that it wouldn't be long until the line broke ranks and ran for the relative safety of the Castle. The Ministry forces, on the other hand, were confident, spells shooting out of their wands that caused the opposite line to scream.

There were only a few people that were really keeping the line together, and as he watched, one of them, a pink haired witch, fell, hit by the women she was dueling. A few yards down the line, Dawlish could spot the small mousy boy waving his wand furiously, his desperation mirrored in those next to him.

It wouldn't be long until they Ministry breached the castle. The defenders would have to retreat soon, whether they liked or not. And then…

And then what? The defenders had nowhere to run to. They would be slaughtered. They had no real chance of survival. Dawlish didn't need to see into the future to know that this was the only possible outcome. No matter what Dawlish did now, that was what was going to happen.

The only question was whether he was just going to stand here, or do something.

He was going to do something of course, he had already decided that. He had never been one to stand idle. All he had to figure out was what he was going to do.

Stalling, Dawlish studied the battle. In front of him, he could see the Savage, a colleague from the Auror office, sending a Killing Curse at a student. Next to him stood another ministry wizard, one that Dawlish recognized, though he couldn't put a name to him. And just a few yards away, there was Jugson, a Death Eater whom Dawlish had personally put in Azkaban not once, but twice.

And just like that, it became clear what he was going to do. Dawlish had never been very good at sorting right from wrong, and had always trusted others to do it for him. Now, on his own, he reverted back to what had been taught: _Dark Wizards bad_.

Hauling himself to his feet, Dawlish started to walk toward the battle. Now that he had finally made up his mind, there was no doubt about what he was going to do. As had always happened when he was about to go into battle, his fear disappeared, gone before it even came. The only thing left to do was listen to his instincts.

 _Move!_ And he deftly sidestepped the spell that would have dropped him. Knowing that it hadn't intentionally been aimed at him, Dawlish kept moving forward, focusing on Jugson. Spells kept flying around him, but Dawlish deftly moved out of the way, blocking only when the spells came to close to dodge.

And then the duel started. Jugson was a Death Eater, trained to kill and torture anyone without mercy. In a list of best Aurors in the last fifty years, Dawlish might not have gotten first, or even second, but he was definitely in the top ten. And now, with his mind finally clear again, Jugson never stood a chance.

Within ten seconds, Jugson was out of the battle, at least for the next couple of days, while St. Mungo's fixed him up. Before Dawlish had time to savor his victory, two more wizards moved to take his place. Dawlish nearly smiled, letting his instincts take over.

Unfortunately, the rest of the battle wasn't going so well. Step by step, the defenders were being driven back, and spells were rapidly being sent against the castle itself now, seeking to stop the spells that were flying from it. Spells blew craters in its walls, showering the combatants in pieces of debris. Before long, Dawlish found himself in the Entrance hall, still fighting, though his wand arm was starting to burn.

It was as if Lady Chaos herself had been let loose in the hall. Spells flew from every direction, bouncing off walls, only to be deflected off Shield Charms. The walls were now so pockmarked by craters that they barely resembled walls anymore. The floor was covered in rubble, blood, shattered glass, house gems, and the limp forms of people. People were scrambling to try and find some kind of footing in the mess, and the smell of burnt flesh and blood was blanketing the air like a second skin. The sound of people yelling and spells hitting various objects was overwhelming loud.

"Dawlish!" yelled a deep voice close by, straining to be heard over the noise.

Dawlish risked a glance behind him and saw Kingsley yelling over the noise. "Dawlish, grab a few people and get over to the fifth floor! They're getting through a passage behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy!

Dawlish didn't hesitate, pelting off toward the marble staircase. Spells flew over him, but Dawlish's only response was to run faster. The stairs were in a ruin, with debris strewn over it, but Dawlish dodged it as best he could and kept going. He had a mission now, and he wasn't going to stop for anything.

There were less spells flying around as Dawlish made the first floor, though he still had to deflect a hex as it came streaming toward him. Looking through the dust, he saw just what he needed: People.

However, all these people were busy with their own problems right now to be of any assistance to him. They were busy desperately trying to avoid death to pay him any attention. _I don't have time for this!_ Dawlish thought, hesitating, before hurtling up the next set of stairs. _I need someone free_.

The second floor held much better luck. There were still fighters scrambling around, but there were fewer, and without spells flying toward him, Dawlish was free to act. Two flicks of his wand, and his newly formed squad turned toward him.

All three of them were students, but they all looked capable, though the red headed girl looked a little younger than the other two. Still, he noticed, she was the only one of them that was uninjured. The grim looking youth was holding his left arm awkwardly, though there was still a sparkle in his eye as if he found something funny. The third member, a dark-skinned girl, had dozens of minor scrapes and grazes across her face, but otherwise didn't look too badly hurt.

"I need help," said Dawlish

The red hair girl looked briefly at her companions before nodding at him. "You got it."

Without another word, Dawlish took off. The time spent gathering people had already taken too long. The stair case was much longer then he remembered it being, and by the time the fifth floor had come Dawlish was out of breath. Clutching his side, he turned the corner where the passage of Gregory the Smarmy… used to stand.

The statue had been blown apart, and in its stead, several Death Eaters stood, some keeping watch while others were helping the fellows up.

"Order Members!" screamed one of the Death Eaters keeping watch, sending a stunning spell at Dawlish, before diving out of the way of hex that had been sent at him. "Get them!

Dawlish exploded into action as everyone else did. Spells flew everywhere, smashing into portraits and making people duck. Shards of wall were sent flying every direction as a Blasting Curse was deflected midflight, pounding into the wall with such force that it seemed that the whole building shook. Dust came down from the ceiling, making it even harder to see the figures that darting in front of him.

Seconds became minutes, and spells from both sides starting coming slower and slower as fatigue started to set in. Minutes later still, and the once furious battle had turned into a battle of endurance, as Dawlish willed himself not to get sloppy. Even as tired as they were, all it would take was one mistake to kill him.

Minutes later still, and Dawlish felt as if the battle was slowly turning into a nightmare. He knew that he had hit a few of them, but there were still so many, and he was having a hard time moving his arm fast enough to keep up the attack.

How long had it been? Fifteen minutes? Half an hour? Duels simply weren't supposed to last this long. They had fought the battle to a stalemate, but it was only a matter of time until the Death Eater's superior number would beat them in the end. Dawlish knew that it wouldn't take long now, that it was only a matter of a few minutes until…

Until a high, cold voice commanded his forces to retreat. Too tired to feel relieved, Dawlish slumped against what was left of the wall and watched as the Death Eaters lazily started to re-enter the secret passageway. At last, when the last one disappeared from view, Dawlish turned his attention back to the students who had accompanied him.

The two girls were sitting against the wall, exhaustion etched on their faces, both staring at the floor. Dawlish followed their gaze and saw the third student, the grim looking youth, lying stretched out on the floor, dead.

For a long moment, Dawlish just let himself stare at the boy. After all this, his world had been reduced nothing but a broken corridor and a dead boy. The dark skinned girl had run over, but Dawlish knew form bitter experience that it was already too late. The only thing left to do was move him out of the way.

"No, no, no," The dark skinned girl was muttering, clutching the boy, shaking him. "You're not dead. Your fine. I know you are."

"He's gone now. There's nothing you can do now." The red hair girl squatted down next to the other girl. "It's too late."

"I know," the other girl whispered, tears in her eyes. "I know he's gone"

"I'll take care of him," Dawlish offered. "Leave him with me."

"Thank you," the dark girl seemed to be trying to pull herself together. "I need to find my sister."

And without another word, the two girls left, leaving him with the dead boy.

Dawlish let exhaustion over take him for the first time and sat down heavily on the ground. He would get up in a little bit, but right now he just need to rest. The wall would keep him from falling asleep, though he wanted to. He still had a job to do, and he planned to do it, just as soon as he had enough willpower to get up.

Minutes passed, and still Dawlish didn't get up. He was just so tired. He had fought, and for what? To watch children die in front of him? Why was he even here? He shouldn't be here. He wasn't fighting for his right to live. He wasn't fighting for anything here. That wasn't really true though, was it? he had already fought. Maybe he had fought for nothing, but it was too late to back out now.

Internally, he was so absorbed in his that it wasn't for some minutes that he realized that he was still sitting there, doing nothing. Dawlish heaved himself to his feet, feeling rather old. Last time he had been in a battle, he definitely didn't remember his joints hurting this much.

Pulling out his wand, Dawlish used it to make a stretcher for the boy, before slowly making his way down through the silent halls. For what felt like years he walked alone, through a battle field that had left Hogwarts nearly a ruin.

Rubble was almost everywhere, and many portraits were no longer on the walls, lying smashed on the ground, their occupants long gone. Dust from the walls covered everything, painting everything the same eerie color. The worst part was the silence though. It was a complete lack of noise, something that Hogwarts was never meant to feel. The only sound was of Dawlish's foot falls as he made his way toward the Great hall, where everyone else should be.

The great hall proved to be in better shape than the rest of the castle. The room did at least. What looked like everyone left had crowded in here, since there was nowhere else to go. In contrast to the rest of the castle, there was noise here, though it was hushed, the sound of a graveyard.

Dawlish walked over to where the dead were being put, passing dozens of bodies, and even more people around them. He walked until the very end of the line, where he gently lowered the body to the floor. Next second, he quickly got out of the way as a burly young man came striding over and laid another body beside the one that Dawlish had just laid. It was the small boy who had helped him up.

Grief wasn't quite the right emotion that Dawlish felt, but it was something close to that. He didn't know this boy, this so very young boy, but he knew that the boy had risked everything to try and life, and now he had paid for it.

His back hurt, his joints ached, but Dawlish sat down next the boy and sighed. What was there left to do?

"It's been a long day." He said, and then he lay down next to the boy, knowing he would need his strength soon. He gave one last look at the two dead boys next to him, and then closed his eyes, praying that the war would be over soon.


	5. A bit of a Argument

**Characters: Parvati and Padma Patil**

 **Rating: K+**

 **Categories: Family**

* * *

As was befitting her mood, it was pouring down rain, with a large helping of fog mixed in to make it more depressing.

Padma was currently hiding in Greenhouse one, where she hoped she wouldn't be found. As everyone knew, it was best when feeling depressed to find some place where you could mope in peace, without some good natured passerby trying to comfort you, especially when all you wanted was to be left in misery.

All in all, Padma was feeling rather proud of herself that she had managed to find such a good place to mope in. The chances of anyone stumbling in to a greenhouse was near zero, especially this time of day, where people would be eating dinner, or else in their common rooms, trying to avoid the Carrows. Padma had tried several other places to hide in, but her usual place of refuge, the library, had been more crowded than usual, and everywhere else she had tried had already had people around it. Since the Carrows had moved in, a lot more people had been seeking out places off the beaten path.

So she had braved the weather and headed outside, ignoring how hungry she felt. After all, the rest of her day hadn't gone very well, so what was the point of spoiling her perfect miserable streak now?

Padma knew perfectly well that dwelling on how miserable the day had been would not make it any less miserable, but she couldn't help herself. She had woken up with such high hopes for the day, thinking that for once, just once, it would be possible for her to get through the day without something bad happening.

She had been completely wrong of course.

It had only taken a few minutes after she had woken up to remember what the D.A was planning to do that day. And after that, the day had deteriorated rapidly, starting with breakfast, where Amycus had gleefully announced that a student had been caught out of bounds last night, and that no one would be allowed to visit him in the hospital wing due to "health reasons", and ending with Muggle studies, where the D.A's plan to get the Slytherins in trouble went badly, resulting in Terry being sent to the hospital wing, all because Padma hadn't managed to distract Alecto long enough for it to be pulled off.

Padma sighed heavily, staring through the greenhouse wall into the rain. No one blamed her, but she knew it was her fault. Perhaps in normal times, they might had teased her about it, trying to make her feel better, but these days, it was just one more thing to add to the list of slip-ups that each D.A. member was keeping for themselv-.

"Bad year?" came an inquiry from just behind her left ear, interrupting her train of thought and making her jump. She hadn't heard the greenhouse door open, though now that she thought about it, the pounding of the rain made it almost impossible to hear anything.

Whirling around, Padma almost smacked into Parvati, who barely jumped back in time to avoid getting hit. Surprised to see her, Padma studied her sister. Parvati was drenched, robes still sticking to her, and rain was coming down from her hair onto her face. She hadn't brought her cloak, which meant that she must have rushed out here.

"Parvati," Padma tried to smile and failed. "How you doing?"

Parvati stepped forward so that she was closer to Padma, talking louder than usual due to the rain hammering on the greenhouse."I'm fine."

Padma knew that she wasn't, could see it plainly written on the cuts along her cheek and the way that she was moving gingerly that she wasn't fine. "Parvati…"

I'm fine, Padma," said Parvati, brushing her hand away impatiently. "I'm no worse than anyone else here, and from the looks of it, better then you right now."

"Me?" asked Padma, withdrawing her hand. "I'm Ok."

"Uh-Hu," said Parvati, unconvinced. "Sure you are."

"Really, I'm…" began Padma

"Sitting in the Greenhouse, surrounded by a storm, and far away from anyone else, simply because it's so much fun," finished Parvati. "C'mon Padma, I've been around you long enough to know when you're having a bad day."

Padma couldn't help but grin a little at her sister's words, drawing comfort in the familiar tone of playfulness in Parvati's words.

"Ok, so maybe I'm not having the best day," Padma admitted.

"I already know that," scolded Parvati

"I'm just… I need a break, Parvati," said Padma, turning back to face the rain splattered wall of the greenhouse. "Day after day we get up, we take risks, and we almost get caught, or we do get caught."

"And today was one of days we're we got caught," said Parvati, nodding.

"That was my fault," said Padma, watching as rain rolled down the walls in front of her even standing next to her.

"It happens," said Parvati. Even standing right next to her, Padma could was still having a little bit of a hard time hearing her as the rain continued to slam into the greenhouse. "There's only so much you can do distract a Carrow without getting sent to the hospital wing."

"I know," Padma shrugged, speaking louder then she usually might. "But I still can't help but feel like I messed up."

Parvati moved forward so that her shoulder was pressing against Padma's, not saying anything, just letting Padma know that she was there. Padma felt a surge of affection for her sister. Padma knew that Parvati couldn't have possibly had time to eat, that she must be tired and aching to sleep as much as Padma was, but that fact that she had taken time to rush down her in the middle of a rainstorm meant the world to Padma.

"Remember that time, just after out fourth year ended?" asked Parvati suddenly, just as Padma had opened her mouth to speak. "And we found Dad's first broom? You know, the one he got as a teenager?"

"And we took it to the back of the house and flew it around?" Padma smiled at the memory. "And you kept telling me that it was made out of ash?"

"It _is_ made out of ash," said Parvati, moving back a little as if to get a better look at Padma

No, it's made out of maple," said Padma, turning as well, so that she was facing Parvati directly.

"Who would make a broom out of maple?" said Paravti, sounding exasperated. "That would just be silly."

"No, it would be like using any other wood," corrected Padma. "They all fly,"

"Like how ash would be used to make a broom?" said Parvati.

"Or maple," said Padma immediately.

"Only if they weren't superstitious," argued Parvati. "Otherwise they would probably make it out of ash. After all 'broom of maple, never stable'"

"Unless they had a different superstition," Padma said, refusing to give any ground to her sister. "And I'm pretty sure you just made that up."

"Have you ever even seen a broomstick made out of maple?" said Parvati, choosing to ignore this last part.

"You mean like the old Shooting Stars?" inquired Padma

"Which are older than Dad's," said Parvati quickly. "And they stopped making them out of maple after that.

"Really," said Padma, feeling a smile tugging at her lips as she watched Parvati think.

"Really," stated Parvati solemnly, before ruining the effect by letting a grin spread across her face, which Padma knew meant that she really had no clue what she was talking about. "You might know just a tiny little bit more about charmwork then me, but I do know my brooms, and that handle was definitely made out of ash."

"How would you know about brooms?" asked Padma, torn between curiosity and exasperation now. "I didn't think that you really liked flying anymore then I do."

"I don't," admitted Parvati. "But Lavender and Seamus convinced me to get on one last year."

"And that's how you know the broom was made out of ash," said Padma. "Because you flew on a broom one more time than me?"

"The handle was made out of ash," said Parvati triumphantly, as if this settled the argument. "And it was the exact same color as Dad's broom.

"And we both know that wood can't be treated to look different," said Padma with more than a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

"But that doesn't mean it's made out of maple," pointed out Parvati, unwilling to give up ground.

"No," conceded Padma easily. "But in _Quidditch through the Ages_ it specifically mentions Dad's model of broom as an example of one that is made out of maple."

"How to you know what model his broom is?" said Parvati, looking bewildered. "There's no model name on the broomstick, it's too worn down to see anything on it."

"It was on the case it came with," said Padma.

Parvati let out an unladylike snort at this. "You mean the case that's so worn you can't read anything on it?"

"No," said Padma, then caught herself. "I mean, yes, that case, but you can still read it with a help of a few spells."

"You cast a spell on dad's broom case?" asked Parvati, giggling a little bit, "When was this?"

"Just after fifth year," responded Padma, feeling confident she was about to win. "It was still hard to read, but I managed."

'Padma," said Parvati, struggling to keep a straight face, which was not something she was known for. "You do know that brooms don't come with cases, right?"

"Oh," said Padma, rather taken back at this, but not ready to give up quite yet. "Then why does Dad have one?"

"I believe he transfigured a guitar case into one, I think to stop us from getting into it," said Parvati. "So I find it rather doubtful that you could have gotten the model from it."

"It does seem rather unlikely," agreed Padma, making a note to reexamine the case next chance she got. "So are we agreed that it's made out of maple?"

Parvati gave a half nod before she realized what Padma had said. "I'm with you, expect for the part about it being made out of maple."

"I hoped that you wouldn't catch that one," said Padma. "You're still not going to concede that's made out of maple"

"Of course not," said Parvati. "And you're not going to give up and admit that it's made up of ash?

"Nope," said Padma.

"Shall we agree to argue this later, when we have proof?" said Parvati, a smile playing around her face.

"Alright," said Padma, also smiling a little bit. A moment passed, and then Padma spoke up again. "You're never going to admit that it's made out of maple, are you?"

"Never, it's much too important," agreed Parvati. "I'll be on my deathbed, and my last words to you will probably 'it's made out of ash.' It will be great, no one else will have any idea of what we're talking about."

Padma giggled at the slightly morbid thought. And it was only then she realized how much lighter she was feeling. Only a few minutes ago, she had been feeling depressed, and now, though she wouldn't be what could be called happy, she was feeling much better.

"Shall we go up to dinner?" asked Parvati, playfully holding out her arm.

"I believe we shall," said Padma, grinning slightly. "And Parvati, Thank you.

"Anytime," said Paravti, before lowering her voice. "Love you, Padma"

"Love you too Parvati," said Padma, giving her a quick hug, again feeling affection for Parvati. "Now let's go, I'm hungry!"

Without another word the two of them hurried toward the door. When they reached it, Parvati darted forward and held the door open.

"Oldest first." She shouted over the rain, as it started coming down with renewed vigor.

Padma shook her head, puzzled. "You're older."

Parvati suddenly smiled, looking mischievous.

"My bad!" she yelled, before zipping out of the door and into the rain before Padma could say anything else. Shaking her head slightly and smiling, Padma followed her sister out into the rain.


	6. For want of Someone

Neville tried to be thankful for what he had.

Most of the time, he was successful. He wasn't bitter that his friends had parents when he didn't, or that they were smarter than him. Most of the time, he could enjoy lessons and Quidditch matches as much as they did.

Of course, _most of the time_ didn't mean _all the time_.

There were times, after a particularly difficult Transfiguration assignment, or after a potions lesson, or when he was feeling especially isolated, when he couldn't bring himself to be thankful. Instead, he would sit and wish that he had someone.

He didn't wish for parents, because he knew they wouldn't be able to be at Hogwarts with him anyway, and he felt that wishing for parents would be betraying his own. No, what he really wanted was a sibling, someone who could understand what his life was like, or a best friend, someone who was willing to sit and listen to his troubles.

Everyone else had someone, a best friend if not sibling, so why shouldn't he? Harry had Ron and Hermione. Seamus had Dean. Neville was friends with them, yes, that was true, but he wasn't _best_ friends with them. They tolerated him, but he knew that he was the outsider in their little groups.

Neville wished that it wasn't so, but the groups had already been set by the time he had walked off of the Hogwarts express for the first time. Seamus and Dean had been best friends almost from the moment they had first seen each other, and as for Harry and Ron, they were already set to be friends before Neville had ever met them. Even Hermione, the one who had been closest to being his best friend, had decided to join the groups had already been dealt, and Neville Longbottom had been left out.

And the funny thing was that he understood. They had made their choice, and they had decided not to be his best friend. The funny thing was, Neville couldn't even bring himself to blame them, because if he had been given a choice, he would have done the same thing.

Maybe that's why he wished so hard for a sibling. A sibling wouldn't have a choice but to be related to him. He was hardly the only one without a without a sibling; loads of his classmates didn't, but they all had someone where Neville didn't.

He was more jealous of Ron then he would ever admit. Ron didn't know how lucky he was; to have both a best friend and to have so many siblings. Neville would watch, with a feeling of envy, as he talked to his twin brothers. To Ron, that was such an everyday occurrence, but to Neville, it was something he would never have. Ron could never understand how special it was to have a sibling like that.

Neville knew that Harry saw the same thing as he did, that he _did_ realize how lucky he was that the Weasleys had taken him in like another family member. All the same, that didn't stop Neville, though he tried to hide from the unworthy feeling, from being jealous of Harry, because though he had started with less than even Neville had, he now had more than Neville would ever have.

It wasn't just Ron or Harry either; it was all of the Weasleys. Neville would watch them carefully, delighting in how the interacted with each other. How they would take a little bit of time out of their day, to talk to their siblings, teasing them gently, or checking up on them.

In particular, Neville watched the twins. They were almost single minded, and they were never seen apart from each other. Neville wished that he had someone like that, someone who liked him so much that they would follow him everywhere. While all the Weasleys were close, the twins had a special bond that Neville could never have, and it sometimes seemed to him that he would never even be able to fully comprehend it.

Ron and Ginny had their own bond, maybe because they were both the youngest in a large household, but they were both protective of each other (some might have called it over-protectiveness), to such an extent that it sometimes seemed that they were angry at each other. But Neville knew that it they only exchanged angry words because the cared for one another. Neville would watch and wish that someone would be protective of him enough of him to be angry.

It wouldn't be for many years before Neville would realize that not all families were like that, but even his thirteen-year old self could see how precious and unique the Weasleys were.

However, the Weasleys weren't the only ones who Neville knew who had siblings. There were two of his classmates that he knew well enough to hear them talking about their siblings: Dean Thomas and Parvati Patil.

Neville had never met Dean's sisters, but every now and then Dean would mention them, and once in a while he would even receive a letter from them. It was clear to Neville's eyes that Dean was a proud big brother, and it made Neville wish he could have someone to be proud of, a little brother, perhaps, that would look up to him like no one else ever had.

The Patil twins were unique in that they had been put in different houses. He rarely heard Parvati talk of her sister, and at first he thought they didn't seem that close Soon however, Neville realized how wrong his first assumption was. He noticed how whenever they walked into a room where the other was, their eyes would meet, like they were saying hello. Nor did it escape his notice that when they ate, they always sat facing each other, Parvati facing toward the Ravenclaw table, her back to the wall, and Padma, facing toward the Gryffindor table, her back to the Slytherins. Every single day they did that, as if gently reassuring the other that they were still there.

And it made Neville wish that he could have someone who would go out of their way to reassure him.

It wasn't until years later and Neville was surrounded by his friends—his good friends—fighting against Snape and the Carrows, that Neville realized that his friends had tried to help him all along.

Hermione had always helped him with his homework when he wanted to breakdown and scream that he was too stupid to do it, firmly telling him that he _wasn't_ stupid.

Harry and Ron would always encourage him to stand up when Neville wanted to stay down. They had shown him loyalty, though they had no reason to.

Ginny had and was _always_ been as protective, if not more, as she as she was of Ron. Neville just hadn't been able to see it with his self-pitying eyes.

Dean and Seamus had never failed to keep a helping eye out for him. Every day in their third year, when Neville was forbidden to write down the passwords, they would go to the trouble of making sure he got in.

Parvati, and perhaps even Lavender, had told people off when they made fun of him. Maybe they didn't do it has often as the others, but that didn't change that fact that they had done it all, for no better reason then he, Neville Longbottom, was their friend.

Neville couldn't forget Hannah, and Ernie, and Justin. Though he wasn't a Hufflepuff, they always welcomed him when he joined him in the library. They had made him feel useful when they asked him for help in Herblogy

In the end, so what if Neville never had a best friend or a sibling? In the end, Neville found that it hadn't mattered.

When he had stood up and made himself look above the self-pity, he had seen that he had never been as alone as he had thought he had been.


	7. Last Thoughts

The hall was frantic, people muttering to themselves as they watched the Slytherins file out of the hall. The younger students were scared…

No, that wasn't true. Everyone was sacred, young and old both. But the older students had a choice where the younger ones had none. Thirteen people had to make a choice that day that people thought they had already made, but the truth was they hadn't, not yet. They had fought since the beginning of the year, but that doesn't mean that they didn't still have a chance to back out.

But without fail they chose to stay and fight.

These are their thoughts.

* * *

Michael had the choice first. He was closest to the end of the table, and all around him his fellow Ravenclaws were leaving the hall, their faces pictures of relief as they either made their choice, or else had their choice made for them.

For Michael, the choice was simple. He had seen this moment coming a long time ago. It was to be a final battle, good versus evil, where people would die, friends would be lost, and tears would be shed in a possibly futile attempt to make the world a better place.

He just hoped when death came, it would come for him instead of someone better suited to living.

* * *

Anthony was unsure. In stories he knew that the hero either had no hesitation, or would sit down for five minutes and angst, and then force themselves to do it anyway.

He had hoped he would be the kind of hero with no hesitation, but apparently he wasn't as lucky as that.

He was more scared then he would allow his face to show, but he knew he would fight. He had been fighting all year in the hope that his little sister wouldn't have to grow up like this any longer, and he would continue to fight with everything he had.

He just wished he had more time, time to say his goodbyes, or else to prepare himself for this moment.

Or maybe just more time to live without the fear of death hanging over him

* * *

Terry really wished that he could think of something sharp and witty. He knew that it was stupid, and probably pointless, but it was important too.

It had something really witty, not some groan-worthy pun. It had to be something that would make his friends loosen up.

But all he could think of was that if he was going to die, doing it with the what he had dubbed 'The Filthy Thirteen' wouldn't be a bad way to go. Fighting in a glorious battle against the forces of evil was as about as respectable way to go out as any.

But it would have been even better with a ready quip on his lips.

* * *

Luna knew there was nothing scary about death. She had seen it before, and it wasn't the end, not really.

They were on their own. They had been on their own since the beginning, but now they were really alone. And people would die.

But that was ok, because it wasn't the end, though everyone who left would be missed for a very long time.

* * *

Padma was the last of the D.A. sitting at the Ravenclaw table. Everyone else had made up their minds, and now it was her turn.

She was terrified, scared of so many things. She could die. Her friends could die, or worse than all that, her sister could die. They could lose, and all the dying would be for nothing.

But her choice was also easy. Parvati would stay, and so Padma would stay. If Parvati hadn't been there, Padma didn't know if she would have stayed, but Padma knew that point was moot; Parvati wouldn't leave, and so neither would she.

So she stayed where she was, hoping without any real hope that they would both get through the battle alive, but knowing the odds weren't on their side.

* * *

At the next table, Hannah was also scared. She had grown up so much in the past year, had done bolder things then she had ever imagined herself doing, but this was a whole different matter.

Hannah had never been the bravest, or the smartest, or the best duelist. She was just Hannah, the timid little girl who still cried into her pillow when she thought of what had happened to her mother.

But there was a part of her, a small part, that told her that she _could_ do this, that not only could she fight, she _would_ fight for those who couldn't. She clung to that part when the time came to make her choice.

And then the choice was past her, but she still clung to that part, praying that it would get her through the night.

* * *

Susan couldn't help but wonder what her auntie Amelia had felt before the end.

She wondered if what her auntie had felt what was what she was feeling now. If her aunt had felt this sick so close to the end or if she had been able to hide it. Susan wondered if her aunt had had a choice as well.

Susan liked to think that she had, and that she had made the same choice Susan had just made.

Susan knew that it was likely that she would die tonight. In spite of the upbeat attitude she showed, she knew that the Bones family hadn't come out well anytime they had fought against Death Eaters.

Still, maybe it was time for that to change.

* * *

Ernie couldn't help but wish he had been born after all this was over.

Ernie was no Seamus. All he had ever wanted was to go through Hogwarts, grow up, find a woman to marry and settle down to have kids. He had never wanted to fight.

But he would fight of course, and he would put on a determined face and approach it like any other nasty task he had done over the years. His loyalty to Hogwarts and the D.A. and Harry demanded no less.

But he couldn't help but wish he didn't have to.

* * *

Ginny was angry.

Not just a little miffed either, but truly mad. She angry at Harry, at her dad, but especially at her mother, who should have known how it felt to have to watch from the side as family risked themselves.

Instead she was stuck in this room, the home of the D.A., with no chance of learning what was happening to her family and friends. Ginny was frightened for them, and her fear made her angry.

Unable to help them as they would fight for their lives, Ginny cursed her helplessness, and waited for an opportunity to help everyone she had ever cared about.

* * *

Seamus was afraid, but he could already feel the adrenaline floating though his veins.

He sensed that this was it. After this, it would be all over. The mixed blessings and curses of this hellish year would be over.

In spite of that fact, or maybe because of it, Seamus was excited. This would be his last chance to feel the camaraderie as wizard and witch alike went through any odds to help each other, fighting their hardest.

Dean and Lavender were next to him, and he was willing to go through anything to fight with them.

* * *

Lavender wasn't scared, not exactly.

After all, she was in Gryffindor, where the brave at heart dwelt. She couldn't be scared, it wasn't allowed.

There had been plenty of times this year when she had been scared, but not anymore. She wouldn't let herself be scared. No, she would be brave, nor only for herself, but for her friends as well, and for all the young ones who had lived this year in fear.

So what if her palms felt like they were melting, or that her stomach was fluttering? That just meant that she was as excited as Seamus.

* * *

Parvati was ready.

She could see all the others around her making the difficult choice, though many of them did a good job covering it up how hard it was. For her though, the choice was easy, so very, very easy.

Padma was staying, and Parvati knew her sister had stayed because Parvati was staying. And Parvati knew there was no way in hell that she would leave her sister. So her choice was already made for her, and Parvati would have it no other way.

And though she knew she was ready, she had her doubts that she would be ready enough for what was to come this night.

* * *

Neville had so many emotions going through him at the moment, he didn't know what he was feeling.

Fear, excitement, worry, relief, it all mixed in, so that Neville didn't know what he was feeling. He was scared for his friends, yeah, but relieved that it would all be over soon, that soon all the choices would be out of his hands.

He was looking forward to getting through all this. In a few hours, his job would be done, and he could go back to just being normal old Neville Longbottom once more. And what was a few hours, compared to all the D.A. had been through all ready this year?

So Neville was determined, if he had to pick out one emotion. Determined to end it, determined to fight his hardest so as many people could live through the night as possible.

He just didn't think that it would be enough.

So the thirteen members of the D.A who had spent their last year in this castle made up their separate minds, united to fight. Thirteen stayed, and not all of them left.

For some of them, their adventure ended there. They were young and left so much undone, lives full of what could-have-beens and should-have-beens.

But that was ok, because it wasn't the end for them, not really.

* * *

 **A/N: As some of you have probably guessed, this was inspired by Lady Altair's Cauterize. It's a different subject, but very much the same sort of format. So I can in absolutely no way claim credit for this style, and would** _ **highly**_ **suggest you check out Cauterize if you enjoyed this story.**

 **Thanks for reading, and may your travels be ever safe.**


	8. Death of a flower

_I prefer peace. But if trouble must come, let it come in my time, so that my children can live in peace- Thomas Paine_

Duncan Brown jumped violently as his daughter barged into his study. He was part of the way through reading a peer's paper about the theoretical use of dragon's blood in the Wolfsbane potion, and, as usual, he had forgotten that Lavender was due back from Hogwarts during the Easter holidays.

"Hi Daddy!" she cried, navigating his study with practiced ease. Duncan had barely managed to stand up before she threw a tight hug around him.

"Hey there," he said, gently pushing her to arm's length to get a good look at her face. It was older looking then he remembered, lines and creases on her face where he hadn't remembered there being any before. "How's school?"

Lavender's smile faded, and again he saw how old she suddenly looked.

"Not so good," she said. "Mum said to get your arse down to the dinner table though, so I'll tell you about it there."

"Lavender!" he said reprovingly, though he didn't really mean it. He had never been able to be very strict with her.

"I know," she called, already out the door

Dinner was a gloomy affair that night. Not because of the food, but because of what Lavender was talking about while they were eating. She told them about the Carrows and the new punishments they had given out, about the classes they taught, and of how nasty Snape was being. Worse still, Duncan got the feeling that she wasn't telling them the most terrible parts of it either.

"So that's been my year so far," concluded Lavender, sipping the hot chocolate Duncan had made for them an hour after dinner had ended.

"We have to get you out," said Duncan's wife, Abigail, looking at him.

"How many times have we tried?" asked Duncan tiredly. "There's nothing we can do about it."

"I know," said Lavender, sighing, and Duncan marvelled for the sixth time that evening how grown up she was acting now.

"As long as you keep your head down and don't get into trouble, you'll be alright," Duncan told her bracingly.

"Hmmm," mumbled Lavender into her cup, the one that Duncan had got her when she was very young. She put it down, and stared at it for a moment before she suddenly brightened. "You hear about _Potterwatch_?"

" _Potterwatch_?" inquired Duncan, exchanging a look with his wife. "I guess we haven't heard of it, no."

"Really?" asked Lavender, playing with her cup. "It's the only program that tells it how it really is."

"Is it on now?" asked Abigail, reaching over for their battered old radio; it had been a gift Duncan had received several years before Lavender was born. "We could listen to it together."

"I doubt it," sighed Lavender, some of the brightness leaving her face. "They were on yesterday, so I doubt they'd be on today."

"They don't have a regular schedule?" asked Duncan, sipping his tea.

"Nope," said Lavender, sipping more of her hot chocolate. "They have to keep moving, else the Death Eaters would catch them.

"They're against the recent steps the Ministry's taken then?" asked Duncan, waving his wand to make the kettle refill their cups.

"Oh yeah," said Lavender, nodding vigorously, and watching as the kettle floated over her cup.

"We shouldn't listen to them then," said Duncan firmly, waving the kettle back to the stove. "We shouldn't give them any reason to suspect us of doing anything but fully supporting them."

"Dad!" exclaimed Lavender, but Duncan pressed on, knowing his daughter too well to expect her to listen to him.

"No, Lavender, listen to me. Even without listening to this ' _Potterwatch_ ,' I know bad things are happening. Two of my colleagues haven't responded to letters I sent them. Two fully grown wizards gone, without a trace, over god knows what."

"Duncan," said Abigail gently, but Lavender interrupted her.

"So I suppose you don't approve of me fighting back against the Carrows then," she said dramatically.

"You're doing what?" asked Abigail incredulously.

"NO," said Duncan loudly standing up so abruptly that his chair teetered for a moment before it fell back to its four legs. Both of the woman at the table flinched, and he lowered his voice somewhat.

"Of course I don't approve, because that's such a... " he faded away when he saw that Lavender had tears in her eyes and he made a conscious effort to soften his voice even more. "Sweetie, everyone's being watched, you know that, don't you? All it takes is one mistake, and it's our family who could be dragged off next."

"You're just a coward!" shouted Lavender, standing up as well, her hot chocolate forgotten now. "We have to fight back, or else risk losing anyway!"

Duncan was hurt that his little girl would think that he was a coward, but he pushed onward.

"People always fight, and for what? Nothing anyone does is going to make difference, and certainly not going to be you making trouble for some schoolteachers that changes things!"

"What we're doing is important," Lavender shot back.

"Nothing is more important then you living," said Duncan sincerely, and he saw Lavender melt a little at his words. "Sweetie, listen to me. Don't put your mother and me through this. I've seen it before, last time, and it always ends badly."

"I'm going to my room," said Lavender. She was still angry, and a long way from being convinced, but she must have sensed that it wasn't going to do any good to argue.

Duncan waited until she had stormed from the room before he sat down again.

"What's she thinking?" he mumbled at his cup. "Fighting back. Merlin!"

"Dear," said Abigail, letting out a sigh while she moved over to sit next to him. "You can't tell her what to do anymore and expect her to do it."

"I'm her father," he argued weakly, though he had a feeling that his wife was right.

"And she's almost grown up," said Abigail. "She's going to do what she thinks is best."

"I've always given her free reign, haven't I?" asked Duncan, lifting his head up and gazing at his wife. "I've never bothered any of her boyfriends, not even the Irish one I don't like."

"That's true," said Abigail, pursing her lips. "But like it or not, we can't stop her."

"I could tell her to stop," said Duncan hopefully, scratching idly at a spot on the table. It had been his grandfather's table once, though Duncan had refinished it when he had passed away.

"Do you think that would work?" said Abigail, raising an eyebrow at him.

"No," he conceded, a little sadly. "I just want us all to come through this alright Abby, and now she's fighting, I…"

He trailed off. He wasn't sure what he was going to say, but his wife nodded.

"I know dear," she said gently, reaching over to grab his hand. "We'll just have to persuade her to stay safe then, won't we?"

Duncan looked at her hopefully, and she smiled at him.

Maybe, just maybe, Lavender would listen to reason.

The rest of the Eater Holidays passed quickly. Lavender seemed to come around with her parents urging, and when she left for Hogwarts, she promised them she would be safe. Reassured, both Duncan and Abigail returned to their normal routine. Duncan, as always, seemed to spend more time then he liked locked up in his study. Spring started to come in for real as April passed, though it wasn't until the first day of May that a truly nice day appeared. Duncan and Abigail chatted over dinner. She made plans to go out with her sisters tomorrow. Duncan promised solemnly that he would guard the house with his life. They stayed up late that night, talking at the table, and then, just after midnight, they went out to look at the stars, feeling young again.

Eventually, they made their way back inside, and climbed into bed, feeling content.

Duncan woke up late the next day, hauled himself out of bed, and ambled slowly downstairs. Still feeling content from last night, he spent some time relaxing around the house, bringing in the _Prophet_ and spending a unnecessarily long amount of time putting the kettle on the stove before he (rather reluctantly) made his way back up to his study. He had just started to read an interesting article of _Transfiguration Today_ when he heard the doorbell ring.

"Coming!" he called down, navigating his way through the mess and then down the stairs. Apparently the unknown party at the door had heard him; otherwise they were just being abnormally patient. Duncan crossed into the foyer and leapt forward to open the door.

A battered looking teenager stood there, robes hanging off his frame in shreds, skin visible in some places. His face had gashes in it, he his hair was covered in dust, making it look grey, and Duncan could see blood splattered across his body.

"Can I help you?" Duncan said, rather hesitantly.

"Duncan Brown?" asked the boy, tired eyes raking Duncan.. He waited until Duncan had nodded before continuing on. He swallowed hard before he spoke again. "I'm… I was a friend of Lavender's.

"I see," said Duncan, waiting patiently for the boy to get to the point.

"It's about her," said the boy, faltering a little.

"What about her?" said Duncan, anxiety starting to throb in his stomach. Something was wrong, he could feel it.

"She…" said the boy. He paused, drew in a deep breath and then tried again, speaking like he was groping for the right words. "I'm afraid that she was killed early this morning."

"That's silly," said Duncan, his heart speeding up. He stared at the boy, searching for some sign that he was lying. "That can't be."

"I saw her myself," said the boy, and Duncan could see the truth in his face. "She…"

But Duncan couldn't seem to make out what else he was saying. It was like watching someone speak different language. Noises poured out from the boy's cracked lips, and it seemed to Duncan that he could almost understand them, except that there was something missing from the words, a vital piece that made them decipherable.

The boy looked earnest enough. Duncan could see the still fresh wounds on his face, bruises and cuts that hadn't been healed yet. There was something odd about him though, something in his eyes that Duncan couldn't comprehend.

"Mr. Brown?" said the boy gently, speaking normally again, and Duncan focused on his lips, because they seemed the most important thing at this moment. "Are you ok?"

Duncan stared at him, the question bouncing numbly around his skull for a while. After what might have been years, he nodded dumbly.

"Are you sure?" asked the boy's lips. "If you want I can..."

"No," said Duncan speaking to the boy's cracked lips from a long black tunnel. "I'm fine."

"Ok," said the lips, then made a pained expression. "I'm... I'm so sorry for your loss, Mr. Brown. Lavender...she was an amazing person, and the bravest one I've ever met."

"I know," said Duncan automatically. There was a slight pause, then he added, "thank you for telling me."

The feet on the steps shuffled awkwardly, but limped away, carrying the bloodied lips and battered face away from the door.

Duncan shut the door, watching it as it glided gently to a shut, blocking out the boy.

He moved back to the kitchen, feeling only numb, and wondering what he was supposed to be feeling. The house was still, as silent as before the boy had come, but now with a noticeable silence added on that couldn't have been there before. It was the silence of absence, the silence that never goes away once you've heard it.

The kettle he had set on the stove whistled, and in jerky movements, Duncan moved his way through the silent house, stopping only when he had reached the kettle.

It was screaming loudly, and Duncan marvelled at how loud it was in this silent house, at how it made noise where none should have existed. He marvelled that it could scream louder than his little girl now could. He marvelled that kettle had kept on going when it seemed like it should have stopped.

After watching a while, he made the tea, moving automatically, hands moving in well established rituals, while his mind watched from a detached distance.

Later, hours or minutes or seconds Duncan couldn't tell, he found himself nursing the same cup at the dining room table. It was a bright cup, the once intricate patterns worn off to reveal the base colours beneath. It seemed to him that he had had it a long time now, but he couldn't remember where he had gotten it. Most of the colour was still as vivid as it had always been, in spite of its age, and for while, he found himself entranced by it.

The untouched tea had grown cold by the time that he heard the door open once more, and he listened to the wind rush through the trees outside as it always had, unmoved by puny human emotions.

"Dear?" He heard his wife call. "I'm home!"

"Here," came his voice, though he wasn't aware of his mouth opening.

His wife entered the room, smiling in a slightly bemused fashion at him. "Here I thought you'd be working in your study again."

"She's gone," he told her stupidly, his voice scratchy, but he knew that it was important to tell her.

"Who dear?" asked his wife absently, pulling the _Daily Prophet_ he had grabbed that morning towardher (mention that he took it in, but didn't look at it). Duncan was about to speak again, when she let out a squeal of joy.

"Look," she shouted, "look, Duncan, they won!"

"Dear," he said making himself look up from the cup in front of him. "She's gone,"

"Who?" asked Abigail, though her smile had frozen, fear creeping into the corner of her eyes.

"Lavender," said Duncan, her name thick on his tongue, not wanting to escape out into the open. "She's gone, Abby, she's gone."

"Where'd she go?" asked Abigail, though her eyes already knew the truth. They were wide, and they knew what he was going to say before he said it.

"Dead," he said, and it was like someone plunged a dagger into his heart as he said it. He froze, horrified by what he had said, at the stark reality of it.

"When?" asked Abby, newspaper in her hands forgotten. Her face grew twenty years older, the brightness she always carried with her fading away like a wand extinguished. "How? Why?"

Duncan tried to respond, to explain that a boy with haunted eyes had come to see him, but the words refused to leave his throat, trapped by the lump that he couldn't get rid of.

And then his beautiful, strong wife was there, holding him as his shoulders shook. He could feel the tears falling down his face, could feel her tears hit him. He tried figure out what was happening, but all he felt was numb, everything coming to him from faraway place, where things still mattered.

They held each other for like that until the Ministry official came to tell them that, regrettably, their daughter had been killed in the fighting this morning.

The next few days pass quickly, and Duncan remembers nothing of them. He has vague impressions of people, of buildings, of St. Mungo's, of a body that is oh-so-familiar to him, of visits to people, of promises made, and visits to home in between. He knew he's still in shock, but that means nothing to him at the moment.

The first clear thing he remembers is the strength his wife shows. She's everywhere, wherever people need her, handling everything that needs to be taken care of. She guides him through the nights when neither of them can sleep, and he just feels so lost. She takes his hand when he wanders around looking at the work piling up on his desk.

After a while, he wakes up a little. He slips from shock to horror. It's not any easier.

They go to the funeral together, and he hears that it's the last one, the final funeral of all, and he's touched by the amount of people who show up. There are Ministry officials there, teachers from Hogwarts, the boy with haunted eyes and some other teenagers that stare at the casket with eyes just as haunted as his.

It's not until he sees his daughter's face, his little girl one last time that it hits him that's she's really, totally gone. Her face is pale and spotless, as beautiful as it had been in life, and never to get older. It's the kick he needs to finally wake up from the far-away-world he had had been living in. He draws in a shuddering breath, wide and deep, and he smells the first signs of summer, and he grabs his wife's hands, giving her all the support he can manage.

She looks at him, and he nods at her, telling her that he knows, he feels it too, and that they're together again.

That night is the first night since they heard where she breaks down and both of their tears fall. They don't stop until after midnight, and he stays with her through it all. Together, they walk into _her_ room. They sit down on _her_ bed, and they gaze around. Somehow, Duncan knows they're not going to be able to sleep tonight.

Their life slowly goes back to normal. Summer comes, and they sit together outside, silently watching what their daughter will never see. He goes back up to his study after a while, trying and failing to ignore the memories of a young Lavender playing on the floor.

He tries to work, but often find himself reliving the days he spent travelling the world when he was younger. He remembers the mountains, the flowers of lands that were still fresh. He remembers a quote that he heard two Muggles talk about when he was visiting the United States. He can't remember it now, but it was something along the lines of someone wishing that war had come to him rather than his children.

He sits in his study and remembers this quote, and thinks that maybe, just maybe, if he had fought the first time that You-Know-Who had come, maybe his Lavender wouldn't have had to fight.

Maybe if he hadn't been a coward, maybe if he had fought, maybe, just maybe, she could have lived.

Every day that's the first thing that he thinks about when he wakes up. Somehow, it's even worse than the nightmares.

He knows that his wife is struggling too, that it's just as hard for her as it is for him to come to terms with what has happened. They take time to spend together. They don't talk, but they both understand that they need each other.

Autumn comes, then winter, then spring, and Duncan returns to work. The house is lonely and silent still, but it's always been quiet, and the absent sort of silence is slowly getting harder to hear.

It's been a year, then two, and it's while Duncan's sitting at the table, sipping at his tea early in the morning when he realizes that _she_ wasn't the first thing that he had thought about that day.

At first it doesn't seem like much, but then it hits him that there's hope that there might be a day when it's not always on his mind.

His wife, his beautiful Abigail, comes down to sit next to him, and he smiles at her, muscles protesting their use after the long break.

Abigail smiles back, hesitantly, and they sit there for the rest of the morning, basking in that slim ray of hope.

That's not the end of it of course. His heart still breaks every day, but after that morning he knows that it's not the end that he thought it was after all.

 **A/N: this whole story grew out of the quote that I put in above. I don't know why it struck me that it would make a good story, but hey, it made me write ten pages of depression, so that's exciting.**


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